Niko Diggs the Weak and Unremarkable
by DayDreamerExtraordinaire
Summary: Niko, unlike his 'magician' Dad, doesn't know the details of every magic trick ever invented; however he does know that every trick has a solution, that magic is fake. Then his logic is tested when a letter for a place called Hogwarts arrives. At Hogwarts he finds himself in danger after he learns more about a mysterious club and their sinister plans...(please R&R)
1. Prologue

**Full Summary: Niko Diggs, unlike his magician father, doesn't know the ins and outs of every magic trick ever invented; however, he does know that every magic trick has a logical solution if only one looks hard enough for it. He also knows that there is no such thing as magic. It's fake, illusions and sleight of hands.**

**Then his logic is put to the test when a letter for Hogwarts arrives. On a Sunday no less! Once Niko is at Hogwarts he becomes immersed in the amazing world of magic, meeting new friends and even making some enemies. Then he finds himself in trouble when he accidentally learns far more than he wants to know about a mysterious new club and their sinister plans...**

**Please read and review!**

**X*X*X*X*X**

The following is a list of wizards and witches, born between September 1st 2005 and August 31st 2006, expected to be attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in their eleventh year.

Applebee, Andrew

Ashworth, Summer

Avery, Xander

Blishwick, Violet

Blythe, Oscar

Carroll, Livian

Corner, Maxine

Creevey, Colin

Diggs, Nikolai

Donalds, Kyle

Edwards, Rebecca

Ellsworth, Isabelle

Finnigan, Jake

Fischer, Pearl

Gilbert, Lucas

Harris, Samantha

Hartley, Veronica

Isaac, Peony

Jenkins, William

Kendall, Lacy

Lowell, Pamela

Lynwood, Jasper

Malfoy, Scorpius

Mason, Juniper

Newton, Evelyn

Nott, Tobias

Oakes, Annalise

Oswalds, Joshua

Potter, Albus

Quidley, Pascal

Rafferty, Florence

Samson, Daniel

Smith, Harriet

Thorne, Elliot

Tibbermore, Martin

Weasley, Rose

Williams, Seraphina

Wolpert, Paul

Zabini, Alcivar

Zabini, Alyssa


	2. Late

"What do you think, kiddo?"

_That tonight's performance will be just like all the others that have come before it. Magic tricks - no matter what the final outcome of them is, whether it be a white rabbit being pulled out of a top hat or that specific card being found in exactly the right place at exactly the right moment - are only just sleight of hands or well constructed illusions. Nothing more, nothing special, and certainly nothing magical._

Of course, I can't say that to my Dad; it would snub out the delighted, childlike twinkle of excitement in his blue eyes. Instead I go for false enthusiasm.

"Sounds brilliant, Dad." I dress up my minimalistic response with a supportive smile, hoping that will be enough for my act to appear sincere. It is.

"I knew you would approve!" His grin - highly infectious to all except me; eleven years of exposure and practice have left me immune - spreads wider, now spanning from dimple to dimple. "Been working on this one for awhile now, it will be spectacular!" He's referring to the new magic trick he's thought of, the one he's refused to tell me anything about. Apparently, it's a surprise. How wonderful.

Not.

"Ahem." Roger, my Dad's manager and best friend, coughs politely to get our attention. It works. Both my dad and me turn to look at him, the square-like man sharing the fancy car with us. He opens his mouth and details of tonight's schedule pour out, instantly losing my attention and giving it away to the happenings on the streets we're driving through; an old lady walking her dog, a young couple walking hand in hand, an empty crisp packet being propelled down a pavement by the light Summer breeze, someone dropping their purse, another someone finding a purse, a suited man nearly being knocked over by a teenager on a bike.

It's not that I dislike Roger, in fact it's quite the opposite; I actually rather like him. However, as soon as anyone starts discussing magic tricks, shows, audiences, or rabbit rights and welfare I zone out. My whole life I've been surrounded with my Dad's magician stuff, so after eleven years it all becomes quite boring; especially when you know that there is no such thing as magic, like I do.

"Here we are! Roger, you didn't say the show was a sell out! Just look at all those people!" I focus my gaze on tonight's venue; a large theatre, somewhat old fashioned in decor. At the grand entrance people spill out and snake their way down the street in a long, fidgeting line. Excited faces, covered in smiles. The constant buzz of electrified chatter is muted by our vehicles tinted glass windows. Posters are displayed just outside the impressive front doors, each with 'Antonio the Amazing!' printed on them in zingy green ink and block capitals.

My dad - the famous magician.

"Not quite a sell out Toni, there's still a handful of tickets left and-" Roger's quiet voice is drowned out by my Dad's much louder one.

"Oh, what's a handful of tickets? Driver! Hurry up and take us round back! I'm supposed to be on stage in forty minutes! Running late as usual..." My Dad gives me a mock scowl; for him our earlier argument, and the ensuing madness with the clocks in our apartment, the cause of our lateness, are already a mildly funny memory. I wish I could be as chilled out as he is, but the truth is I'm still annoyed. My dad squirms in the shiny leather seats, impatient and excited; he's acting like his usual self - a five year old.

Sometimes I wonder who the real parent is in our relationship, I really do.

I turn my head from the window, the view of adoring fans becoming tiresome, and catch Roger's trusting brown gaze. He gives me an encouraging smile, to which I give a nod; being best friends with my father for so long has left him with an understanding of what he is like, what a child he can be. The car sways to the left as we turn down the back alley, the way to the back entrance. As soon as we turn the corner the sunlight vanishes, replaced with gloomy shadows cast by the surrounding buildings. Massive, overflowing dumpsters line one side of the walls, quite probably housing several stray cats and hobos alike. Faded posters are falling away from the walls and a rusty bicycle is leaning against one of the dumpsters.

Overall, a very dull back alley.

Then something...odd...happens. Or is it more accurate to say a series of odd things happened?

POP!

SCREEEECH!

"Ahhhh!"

"What the hell!?"

"James!"

Stinging pain across my middle; my seatbelt just saved me from colliding with the seat in front. Stuttering, coming from the driver; he is clearly shocked over something. My dad grips my arm tight, painfully tight, like he's afraid to let go. Roger is looking around dazedly and I can hear angry shouting and concerned questions from outside the car.

I think we just came very close to crashing into someone.

I recover quickest, so I decide the best thing to do is get Roger functional again; he handles situations like this one better than my Dad.

"Roger!" I shake his arm, he mumbles. "ROGER!" He starts, looks ready to tell me off and then realizes what's just happened. After glances at my Dad and the driver, he deems them shocked but unharmed, Roger exits the car. I'm right after him, stumbling slightly.

A family of five stands in a huddle, the tallest - so I'm assuming the eldest - child is the centre of attention. His mother, a formidable looking redhead, appears to be alternating between telling him off and making sure he's alright. Was it him we nearly ran over? His father has a hand on both the little girl's shoulder and the other boy's shoulder, he looks like he's comforting them and out of the whole family seems to be the least shocked by the near collision.

"Excuse me?" Roger speaks up, hand raised in a pathetic attempt of greeting. The family stops talking and turns to face us; they all look mildly panicked, as if we've just found them at a crime scene. The father is the one to reply.

"Oh, sorry! My son," He waves a hand to the dark haired boy who'd just been getting told off by his mum. "wasn't looking where he was going, and none of us saw your car, and... well. I guess that was a close one, right?" His bright green eyes seem genuine, and he runs a hand through his messy dark hair - it seems to be a shared trait among the boys in this family, all three of them have it - almost like he's nervous.

Odd. _We're_ the ones who should be nervous, not them. We nearly ran over his son! I shake my head in confusion as my Dad steps out of the car and comes over, he looks very apologetic.

"My, I'm sooo sorry! The driver says he didn't even see you! Like you just popped up out of thin air. Is your boy alright?" Always very friendly, my Dad walks right on over to the nearly-hit-by-a-car-kid and offers a hand. "Nothing hurt I hope?"

"Nope," He moves his arms experimentally. "just fine, thank merlin." The parents both share an alarmed look and a sharp intake of breath. Merlin? No one else finds this strange though, so Roger and my Dad keep babbling on.

I roll my eyes, and hear a giggle; the little girl is watching me. I give my usual nod of acknowledgement and she gives me a small wave in return. Her other brother, the one who wasn't nearly hit by a car, notices and gives me a smile. He looks a lot like his dad and roughly the same age as myself.

"Well, I hope you will enjoy the show then!" My Dad says happily, shaking hands with both the parents. He motions for Roger to hand over five tickets; I suppose that's the handful that hadn't been sold.

"I'm sure we'll find it very...entertaining." Says the mother, with a weird, almost secretive smirk on her face. Hmm. This family is rather peculiar.

"Good, good! Come on Roger, Niko! I've a got show to prepare for!" My Dad hurries down the rest of the alley, given up on the car. Roger says a polite goodbye, tells the driver to go park round back and trots off after my Dad.

I don't say anything, I just walk towards the back entrance at my normal leisurely pace. Those people were suspicious and I don't think being in the car that nearly ran your son/brother over is really a good reason to be nice to people. I mean, we didn't _actually_ run him over; if we had, maybe I'd have been a bit more polite.

I reach the door labelled 'Backstage' and, with a heavy sigh, yank it open.

...

**Author's Note!**

**Hello! This my first Harry Potter Fanfic, so reviews would really mean a lot. Constructive criticism is also really appreciated! ****Hope you like it! :)**


	3. Backstage Blackout

Engrossed in my DS, earphones in, volume turned up to deafening, I block out my surroundings. The directions from an agitated Roger, the questions shot back at him from confused crew, the THUD of heavy objects (like the disappearing box) being moved and packed away, the pounding of hurried footsteps across the wooden floors and the enthusiastic applause from the audience all fail to fill my ears. I don't even get distracted by the sight of three burly men, each clearly a member of their local gym, attempting - and failing! - to pull the sequined boots my father has magicked to his assistant's dainty feet off. The royal purple curtains, the stray pieces of confetti or glitter, the flashing of various lights - deep blue, luscious red, sickly green, electric yellow - and the fluffy white rabbit making it's how-ever- many-eth escape attempt don't steal my interest; they down right bore me after seeing it all so many times before.

I also fail to notice Roger - having finished giving out orders - walking over to my shadowy, backstage corner.

"Niko." No reply. "Niko! Hey!" He waves a hand in front of my face. Earth to Niko.

"Yeah?" I pull the earphones away and pause my game; I can beat up Bowser later.

"Shows over. It went fantastic, your Dad's going to be over the moon! I'm over the moon! They've asked him to do another show in couple of months!" Roger's voice gets higher and higher the more he speaks, a lot like an excited teenage girl.

"That's..." I begin.

"Amazing?" Roger offers.

"Okay, I guess." Roger seems annoyed with my response, but that doesn't really bother me. The only person I pretend to interested in stuff like this for is my Dad; pretending for anyone else would just be too much work. He shakes his head, realising continuing this conversation any longer will be a wasted effort on his part. Sighing, he walks away to speak with some of the backstage crew.

I roll my eyes and, eager to leave, quickly pack away my DS and pull on my jumper. Then I go to stand up and-

"OW!" I yelp, my hands fly to the back of my head. No blood, just a sore stinging sensation. Several members of the backstage crew look over, concerned. I just nod and give them all a weak thumbs up.

"You hurt?" Asks a friendly looking lighting technician. Quite small in size, and rather plain looking; the sort of person who blends in. Except her eyes. Larger than normal and a warm hazel in colour. She reaches out a hand, like she going to check my head for injury.

"Fine. I just hit my head when I was standing up." Taking a step backwards seems to give her the hint; with a sad little smile she leaves and goes back to her work.

I almost feel guilty about not saying thanks for asking.

Once she's disappeared from view I turn around to scowl at the wooden box next to me; the cause of my aching head. When I stood up I must have whacked my head off of it. Then I notice writing on it, a label. _Magic Trick Props, property of Antonio the Amazing._

Sigh. It's almost as if magic hates me as much as I hate it.

Then I see my Dad appear, waving over his shoulder to the crowd and blowing kisses towards woman who probably have a husband and kids back home. Massive grin on his delighted face, he shakes hands with lots of crew members, hugs a rather reluctant Roger and then hugs him again after Roger shares the news about the other show. Dad's head then darts from side to side, looking. For me.

Quickly, I put my proud, happy son mask on and stroll over.

"There you are, Kiddo!" My Dad spots my approach and runs over, swallows me in a suffocating bear hug then spits me back out because of my muffled protests. "What d'ya think?"

"That I'm finding breathing hard." In and out, in and out.

"Ha! Oh Niko, stop being a drama queen! Y'know, I miss the days when you used to still act like my little boy." A nostalgic expressions crosses his face and he smiles briefly before fully remembering.

I've not been his little boy since Mum's been gone.

No, God - or whoever or whatever you believe in - didn't take her away. I'd hate her a lot less for that.

My Mum was taken by the Devil. The Devil who wears sweater vests and khaki trousers, that is.

"Yeah, your show was good Dad..." I say after we both have a moments private reflection. He snaps back to the present, to his normal bubbly self.

"Really? Thanks, Kiddo!" He smiles down happily at me and places a hand on my shoulder. I nod back, that's all I need to do to get him distracted and talking. "Yeah, I thought it was pretty good too. I mean, did you hear that audience? And-" My Dad would talk forever if given the opportunity, so I'm safe to let my concentration wander for a while.

The crew has dispersed, some leaving and others tidying things away. Roger goes outside; it's part of his job to make sure the right things get put in the correct vans. Then I notice the hazel eyed lighting technician; she's standing underneath one of the lights and double checking something on her clipboard.

"Hey Libs! This light getting taken down next?" Another crew member shouts down to hazel eyes from where he's standing on the metal, above stage supports and balcony. 'Libs' nods and waves for him to start dismantling the light.

Everything is going fine.

Until the crew member stumbles and knocks the light over; sends it flying through the air towards hazel eyes.

Some people start screaming, most do nothing as they haven't noticed yet. They'll notice in a second when her blood is everywhere. I panic and reach out a hand, even though I know I won't be able to save her. My call of warning is jammed in my throat. I scream at her in my head, MOVE! GET OUT OF THE WAY!

Nothing works.

CRASH!

Disjointed shouts and cries. Panicked running feet. Shocked silent ones. A flurry of confusion. Chaos.

Hazel eyes must be dead, if not at least severely injured.

My Dad runs towards the crash site, I can't muster the words or the strength to hold him back.

I should have thanked hazel eyes for asking.

"Libby, Libby!? Are you alright?" Someone is yelling. How stupid - a dead body clearly isn't alright!

"I-I think s- so..." She is interrupted by a fit of violent coughs, everyone else holds their breath. _It can't be, she was right underneath that light._

The coughing stops. The speaking starts again. Pause, play.

"I- That light nearly- nearly kil-" She says.

"Don't Libby, don't. You were over here and panicked when you heard the light fall. When you panicked you tripped up." Another person tells her. I almost shout out that she wasn't, that I saw her right there, that I reached out a hand to save her but I was- Wait. I reached out a hand to save her, but maybe I wasn't too late?

I follow my Dad over, hear someone say they're going to get her some hot chocolate; apparently some idiot thinks that chocolate helps with things like this.

"Libby," I hear my Dad say gently. "are you okay? That fall looked painful."

"I'm fine Toni, everyone. Quit panicking, I must have just seen the light falling and got scared, then fell. Maybe I hit my head too..." She tails off.

"What makes you say that?" I ask. She notices me and smiles pleasantly; odd considering how unresponsive I'd been earlier.

"Well, why don't you tell me, since you are the expert on head injuries and all." She smirks as she says this, that irritates me. Everyone who saw me hit my head chuckles, covers their smirks with their hands. I don't like being laughed at. Not at all.

Libby seems to notice that she's touched a nerve for she drops my earlier accident and elaborates on her answer. "Well I think I hit my head because, and this sounds really weird, I seem to remember flying through the air from that spot right there-" She indicates the place where the light hit the floor. "straight into this wall here."

"Should someone call an ambulance?" Someone speaks up.

"Anyone here a first aider? A nurse?" Someone else asks.

"Libby, get someone to take you to the hospital, no buts. Head injuries are serious. Okay?" My dad takes charge, surprising me. Libby nods in agreement and one of the other lighting technicians helps her to her feet and says they'll take her to see a doctor or nurse. "Everyone else, good work tonight! My shows would suck without all you guys! Finish packing up and then go home guys, thanks." My Dad then turns to me and places a comforting arm around my shoulder.

"Home?" I ask, voice slightly shaky. I certainly don't require a mirror to know how ghostlike I look.

"Definitely Kiddo, let's get to the car." We walk at a fast pace towards the backstage door, my Dad calling out goodbyes and smiling to the crew we pass.

Maybe tomorrow things will seem less strange.

**Author's Note!**

**Hello! Hope you're enjoying Niko's story so far, and if you are then please review! If you're not (although I've no idea why you'd be reading this right now if you didn't like it), constructive criticism would be fantastic. I'm hoping to write a minimum of one chapter per week; possibly I'll sometimes get more than one done, hopefully never less than one. Thanks for reading! :) **


	4. The Letter On Sunday

Home. The familiar rooms, each furnished with the modern and downright quirky, ease my troubles and racing thoughts. I always find a little bit of comfort every time I walk through our front door and into our spacious apartment. It's open-plan layout, scattered magic tricks, strange artwork and general odor of familiarity takes the edge off even the most bizarre or traumatic of days.

Like this evenings incident with the falling stage light.

"Right, Kiddo, it's late. You really should be off to bed." Dad says, shrugging off his expensive coat with great care, conscious of it's designer label, and hanging it up. We both then kick off our shoes, filling the entrance with the foul stench of sweaty feet. I glance at the silver framed clock on the wall, it proclaims it quarter past six; after a moment of puzzlement - the show hadn't lasted that long - I remember the spinning clock hands from earlier. Oddly, that unusual occurrence had taken place at almost exactly the same time as Dad and I's argument.

"Just let me have a drink of water first." I say and then, much to my annoyance, have to stifle a massive yawn. My Dad chuckles at my attempt and affectionately pats my head, ruffles my black curls.

"I'm not a dog." I mutter and duck out of his reach.

"Alright, Kiddo. Go get your Pj's on first, then have a drink." He then walks into our spotless kitchen; I don't think I can ever recall an occasion when it's been messy. Mum was always the cook, and since she left neither Dad or myself have ever done much in the kitchen except maybe make a bowl of cereal; even then that normally ends in the spillage of something, sometimes the something isn't even one of the things being added to the bowl. I don't have many kind things to say about her, but she could have been a professional chef if she wanted to be. Yes, her pasta dishes really were that scrumptious; I pretend they're the only thing I miss about her.

"Fine." With that I head towards my bedroom, passing our huge leather couches and far too big flatscreen television on the way. I only just manage to avoid slipping, and then falling, on a stray sock that's found itself lying on our living floor, having escaped from the washing basket and lost it's pair. Must be lonely.

I force my room door open with a hard push; it's always been slightly stiff. Flicking on the light illuminates my disorganized room, every scrap piece of paper and runaway action figure. My bed covers flood onto the grey carpet, as unmade as I left them this morning. The window, open; my room is filled with a light chilly breeze, my blue curtains sway. Books and other knickknacks sit precariously on shelves, threatening to crash to the floor. My television - screen covered in a layer of dust on which I have previously drawn doodles and written reminders such as 'spelling homework!' - stands on the dresser which is currently spewing articles of clothing, jeans and t-shirts pouring out the overstuffed drawers; it looks as though it's a toddler spitting out rather awful tasting food, brussels sprouts perhaps.

It is to the erupting dresser I make my way - avoiding standing on toys and battling past my unmade bed covers - in search of some pajamas. After finally finding some - and swearing to clean my room tomorrow - I quickly change, throwing my worn clothes into the washing basket. No, correction. Washing mound; the basket disappeared, hidden by all my clothes, a week or so ago. I really need to tidy my room tomorrow.

Now changed, I dash back to the kitchen. I'd intended to just get a glass of water, but my Dad obviously had other ideas; on the gleaming kitchen counter top sits a cold glass of milk and a plate bearing a handful of delicious looking cookies. At the breakfast bar my Dad is seated, back and forth he swivels on the stool; I'd moan about the awful squeak it makes, but really - it's impossible not to swivel on a swivel stool. From his large hands steam rises, like the taunting exhale of smoke from a volcano. He then raises his hands to his mouth, drinks deeply; if he's drinking coffee at this hour then he probably has had a sudden vision for a new trick, which of course he'll stay up the whole night planning out and tweaking.

Grateful, I take my cookies and milk - that really does sound terribly babyish, but I'm not particularly fussed - and plop my butt down on the stool next to Dad. He gives me a smug smile, getting me to do anything even remotely childish is a victory for him. Yeah, laugh it up Dad, but these cookies are pretty tasty. No, I whack his hand away from my plate jokingly, I'm not sharing.

"So," I say sleepily after I've swallowed my last crumbly mouthful of cookie. Yum. "Coffee. What's the idea this time?"

"Top secret." His smile lines wrinkle at my eye roll. "Besides, you're asleep already, you need me to bore you there. Off to bed." He gives me a brief hug; I sigh and try to fight him off, but I am actually quite tired and if I'm being honest, his hugs don't really bother me much.

"Night, Dad." I manage to mumble around the side of yet another yawn.

"Night, Niko. See ya in the morning." He says as he gets up and puts our dirty cups and the now empty plate in the sink.

**...**

A pleasant choir of singing birds, sunlight filtering through my window, the smell of burnt toast; this is what I normally awake to on a typical Sunday morning (sometimes afternoon, depending on the time I went to sleep the night before).

Not this morning.

Then again, when I look back, it wasn't really a typical Sunday morning. I suppose the first clue was the lack of burnt toast and the abundance of edible slices, each smeared with a thick layer of sweet strawberry jam. Admittedly far tastier than my usual Sunday breakfast, but still odd; delicious but eyebrow raising.

The second clue? A messy kitchen bunker. Not extremely awful; just mildly sticky on account of my Dad missing the slice of toast on one occasion. Easily fixed, wiped away with a cloth like a pencilled mistake by a rubber.

Once again I found myself seated next to Dad at the breakfast bar, steadily munching away at my (suspiciously) good toast. His blue eyes are bloodshot, the noticeable contrast between the two colours making their weariness all the more obvious. His clothes are as rumpled as his untidy hair; the yawning, mumbling result of an all nighter fuelled by the addictive power of coffee. The evidence of the caffeine source not being in dirty cups, but the bitter smell of it in the air.

"So, have you finished it?" I query, hoping for his sake the loss of sleep was worth it.

"Hmm? Wha-wha-" He yawns loudly, and and squints at me through weary eyes. "What do you mean 'finished it?'"

"You've thought of a new trick right, that what it always is." I say. Realisation shows on his face and he nods enthusiastically, but before he has the chance to elaborate further we hear a strange sound.

Well, it wasn't so much that the sound was strange, more that hearing it at this time on a Sunday was.

I mean, why would someone be putting mail through our door on a Sunday? There is no mail on Sundays. I suppose this was clue number three.

We share a puzzled look before Dad gets up and shuffles to our front door. Once there, he kneels and picks up not a bucketful of letters like normal - adoring fans will be adoring - but just one single yellowish coloured envelope, looking awfully important with its fancy red wax seal and losing some of it's credibility for lacking a stamp. I suppose this licking an envelope shut business is beneath the senders. Or their tongueless. I wonder some more about them, the senders. Why are some insanely old fashioned posh people - or tongueless people, possibly both? - sending Dad a letter. He's only a magician!

"Dad?" I ask as he hasn't opened it yet; he's standing staring at it, utterly perplexed looking. "Uh, Dad? I don't know for sure, so correct me if I'm mistaken, but aren't you meant to, oh I don't know, open your mail?"

"Yes, I suppose you are, Kiddo." He surprises me when he comes back to the breakfast bar and hands me the letter. Me? Unsure, I take it. Read the address details, which have been penned in a rather vibrant green ink.

Mr N. Diggs  
Apt. 13  
Kilbrook Apt. Block  
Grafton Street  
London

Clue four: some old fashioned, posh, tongueless people sending a letter to me.

"So who's it from Kiddo?" Dad sounds mildly suspicious; that makes two of us.

"I have no idea." I say. Confused I go to open the letter. Then I stop; the wax seal intrigues me. It's some sort of crest, split four ways with a large capital 'H' in the centre. Is that animals? A lion, a badger, an... eagle? And is that other one a snake? This just keeps getting weirder. Hoping for some answers I break the bizarre seal and pull two pieces of paper out of the envelope.

The first piece of paper was clearly written as some kind of joke, I'd suspect Dad if it wasn't for the fact the handwriting was completely different. The second began to really befuddle me. So I reread them. Twice. Thrice. All the while ignoring fidgeting Dad and his curious questions. After the fourth reread I decided that if I was being sent letters from a lunatic I'd better get Dad's opinion on them, so he could assess the threat level and possibly invest in more locks for the door.

Carefully, he read them both. Weary eyes disbelieving and widening with every word.

"Should we call the police?" I ask.

"Police? No, Niko, I think that's a little dramatic." He smiles affectionately.

"But-" He cuts off my complaint.

"Niko, quit panicking. It's probably just someone's idea of a prank. Now, why don't you go get ready." He places the odd letters on the counter.

"Ready? For..."

"Seeing your Gran, Kiddo. Remember?" No. That's one way to make me feel awful. Not that I don't deserve it; imagine forgetting about my visiting my sick Grandmother. I'm a sad excuse for a grandchild.

"Oh, yeah. Right. Half and hour." I mutter, and resume eating my toast. It tastes funny though; probably the guilt I'm swallowing.

"Right, well I'm away to go make myself look presentable. Finish your breakfast, okay?" He walks off towards the bathroom, and a minute later I hear the water running.

Once I've finished my toast I dump my plate in the sink, and turn as if I'm about to go back to my messy room. However, I can't quite resist one last look at the letters. I edge over to the table and cautiously pick the first one up with two fingers; you would think it was about to erupt into flames. Slowly and carefully I open it and begin to read:

HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY

Headmistress: Minerva McGonagall

Dear Mr Diggs,  
We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.  
Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.

Yours sincerely,

Marietta Rousseau  
Deputy Headmistress

A very non-typical Sunday morning indeed.

** ...**

**Author's Note!**

**I'd really appreciate it if you would leave a review, and constructive criticism is welcome too! Thanks for reading! :)**


	5. Special

The smell of disinfectant engulfs me as we walk through the double doors, fresh air locked out behind the reinforced glass. Bleak expressions and laboured shuffles. Dying pot plants and ghost like complexions. I try and locate something cheerful in the sea of sickness. A small child, about four or five years old, with their left arm in a sling, has a bright yellow sticker on his jumper. I believe it's supposed to show a smiley face; it's been stuck on the wrong way round, so now it also appears to be frowning about something.

I hate hospitals.

A woman on the far side of the room, to the left of the reception desk, suddenly freezes in her tracks. She clutches with pale hands to her stomach, scrunching up her hospital gown in the process. After a several moments of panicked silence it happens. Spew! A gush of lumpy sick forms a puddle on the previously shiny, polished floor.

I _really_ hate hospitals.

Dad, face morphed into an unusually serious, happiness lacking expression, heads to the desk. While he chats away to the blond haired woman plopped on the chair behind, red nailed hands poised over the keyboard, I glance around the room in an attempt to stop worrying about seeing Gran.

Fidgeting people, nervously talking incessantly to the their poor companions, are clearly visitors; their too full energy to be ailed by the sorts of sickness that dump you in this wing of the hospital. Hospital beds, sheets pristine and uncreased, are wheeled past, emitting complaining squeaks. Doctors in white coats, nurses in blue scrubs. A droopy faced cleaner mopping a section of the floor, throwing daggers at the woman who had been sick. Like the woman had done it on purpose. Several vending machines line the white walls and waiting tables are overflowing with years out of date magazines.

"Room 14, Ward 7, that's on floor five." Says the receptionist, pointing with a bony finger towards the elevators. Dad thanks her and steers me in the right direction with an arm around my shoulders.

Patiently, we wait whilst the other people exit the elevator we're going to use. Shuffle, shuffle. Pause. Shuffle, shuffle. Finally they've moved out of the way and we enter, as per routine I press the button; I've done so since I was very little. The automatic doors slide shut, and the weird feeling of rushing upwards enters my stomach. Almost like butterflies, but not quite. Dad is silent, unusual for him, but he's nervous. He hates hospitals as much as I do, but being the adult he has to at least pretend to be calm. It would work on most other people, but not me; not only do I know him too well, I've somewhat got a knack for reading people's emotions.

Ding! We've arrived at floor five. The doors glide open, revealing a waiting couple. Tear tracks are visible on the woman's face, and the man doesn't look very composed either. Politely, Dad nods at them. It's what most decent people would do. I on the other hand don't do anything, except walk out of the confines of the elevator and hurriedly use the provided hand sanitizer that's mounted on the wall. It's the rules when visiting someone here. Then I start heading down the corridor, with a few quick strides Dad catches up, and with a few more overtakes me. Room 2, Room 4, Room 6...

Room 14.

With a glance at Dad I swing open the doors. There's only one window and it's been left ever so slightly ajar - the safety latch preventing it from opening too much - allowing the gentlest of breezes into the room. Cards bearing the message 'Get Well Soon!' clutter the top of a bedside unit, a vase of purple flowers sits proudly in the middle of them all, beginning to wilt with age. The other couple of beds in the room are empty, untouched. The awful odor of disinfectant is less severe in this room, muted by the more familiar smell of lavender. Of Gran.

"Would you two stop standing in the doorway and come over here, I'm not contagious. Although I have been known to bite..." Gran sits propped up by pillows, book on her lap and silver hair pulled back into a tidy bun. She smiles warmly at us and holds out a frail hand. Surprisingly (or perhaps unsurprisingly? I've always gotten along great with Gran, and we both seem to reserve the rare sight of our smiles for family only) I return the smile and go and join her, Dad doing the same.

"How are you feeling, Mum?" Dad asks after giving her a peck on the cheek.

"Oh simply fantastic. Well, fantastic if one forgets about the medicine, the uncomfy mattress, the muck they disguise as food..."She says, rolling her eyes.

"Mum-" Dad starts, looking worried. Glancing back at the corridor, deciding whether or not to fetch a nurse.

"Don't. I'm ill, of course I'm not feeling well so don't bother asking. Now I don't want to spend this time arguing and talking about such depressing topics. Can we do that darling?" She inquires with a raised eyebrow to Dad, he sighs and, defeated, nods his agreement. I quash my laugh, but seeing Dad with Gran is always entertaining; she still treats him like a child. "Splendid. So, Niko, dear how are you?"

"Fine, Gran." I reply.

"Tch. Never one for wasting words you are Niko."

"Guess I must have got that from Grandad, then." I say, teasing her.

"Yes, but I take credit for the cheek, young man. Don't forget it." She points a finger in warning, and I smirk.

"You don't want to annoy your Gran too much, Kiddo. Trust me." Dad speaks, serious face fading slightly now that conversation has started. I relax and ask Gran a couple more questions, getting her started on a story about some childhood escapade of hers. After that, Dad and I barely need to say a word. However that does not mean I don't pay attention, quite the opposite; Gran is one of those people with a talent for storytelling, so it's impossible not to be sucked into the story.

X*X*X*X*X

Half an hour later, one of the more friendly looking doctors comes in and asks to speak with Dad. Confused, Dad reassures us he'll be back soon and exits the room with her.

"She's one of the nicer ones that one. Forever smiling and always making small talk." Gran says, eyes on the now closed doors. I throw her an incredulous look; that sounds like my cynical Grandmother's worst nightmare. She notices and shakes her head with a smile. "Maybe a bit too cheerful at times, especially in the morning. But compared with some of the other ones she's bearable."

"What's she speaking to Dad about?" I ask, worried it's about Gran's illness. What if she's getting worse?

"Darling, I may have eyes on the back of my head, but I'm old; my hearing isn't what it was, and I was certainly never able to hear whispered conversations through several stone walls. So tell me, how the bloody hell am I meant to know?" She says frankly, shaking her head at my silliness. Although, her mocking honesty eases my worries. Gran certainly seems more like her normal self.

"So, I've not asked yet, Niko, but what have been up to recently?" She says, attempting to pass the time and keep my mind off what's being spoken in another room.

"I thought you hated pointless small talk?" I ask.

"With boring strangers. And acquaintances too come to think of it. But you're my grandson, so I'm automatically interested in your life."

"Well, not very much. Dad's shows, visiting Grandad, Aunt Jo's party-" I pretend to not have heard Gran's tut of distaste here; anything or anybody who has or even had anything to do with my Mum, Gran despises. "and Pete's away on holiday so I haven't really had anyone to go the park with. Well, Dad offered but you know. It's a bit weird living five minutes away from the park and needing your Dad to go with you when you're eleven. And it's Summer so no school."

"What about after Summer? New school right, first year at High School?" I open my mouth to say the name of the school I'm meant to be attending, a real challenge since it's quite the mouthful, but I stop. Gran's look is knowing. She can't possibly know about those stupid prank letters right?

"Gran-" I begin, but am cut off when she leans over and grips my hand tightly, eyes serious

"Listen." I nod and she continues. "You've always been a little different, a little odd, darling."

"Thanks, Gran. That's really-" I say sarcastically.

"Shush, Niko. Let me finish, it's important. I've always known. That you're special. It's not a joke Niko. Those letters, what they say - It's real." I'm about to ask her a question, try and clear up some of the confusion, when the doors fly open and Dad bursts in. Grinning.

"Guess what?" He says.

"Do hurry and get to the point darling, I've no patience for guessing games." Gran says, calm. Her earlier seriousness vanished. What did she mean?

"The doctors, they've looked at your recent test results-"

"Well that's rather vague considering they take about fifty tests a day..." Gran mutters, Dad either doesn't hear or doesn't care as he ploughs on regardless.

"and they're about 99% sure you're on the road to recovery! Mum, you can go home soon! Dad will be delighted." Happiness and relief practically radiate off of him.

"That, darling, is good news. I'm sick of this place. However, I'm also shattered and I believe visiting hours are almost up."

"But-" I try to say, desperate to quiz Gran for more answers.

"Niko, don't hassle your Gran. She'll be home soon enough and then you can visit as often as you want." Dad assures me, completely oblivious to what transpired when he was out.

"Listen to your Dad, dear. Now come here and give me a hug. I'll see you soon." Sighing in resignation and deciding that Gran has gone crazy I go and give her a hug. "Remember what I said, Niko." She whispers into my ear.

"What-" I say, then stop at her warning glare. Best not to push it.

For now.

"Bye Mum. Hopefully we see you at home soon." Dad says as he gives her a hug as well, along with a another light kiss on the cheek.

"Bye, darlings. Love you." Gran waves as we reluctantly leave the room.

"Bye, Gran." I say back. She scowls, waiting. "Love you too." I mumble, the tiniest bit red faced. She knows I love her; she's my gran, of course I do. She just enjoys embarrassing people, I can tell from her light chuckle as we leave.

Knowing Gran is getting better is comforting. Trouble easing. However, what she when Dad was out of the room has left me confused. Uneasy. Doubtful of my conclusion that the letters were only some elaborate prank.

What did she mean by the letters are true? What did she mean she's alway known I'm special?

** Author's Note!**

**Again, thanks for reading. Please leave a review - honestly, they always make smile - and any constructive criticism would be greatly appreciated. Hope you are enjoying Niko's story so far. :)**


	6. No Such Thing

This evening had been pleasant, filled with Dad's steady stream of chatter and my occasional nod or remark. My lack of conversation didn't discourage him; I've always been on the quiet side, especially around people who talk as much as he does. Although, whether through good acting on my part or general familiarity with  
my quietness, maybe even a mixture of both, Dad failed to realise my eyes kept darting toward the bin all night. The letter.

_"That you're special. It's not a joke Niko. Those letters, what they say - It's real."_

Sighing, I fold the corner of the page to mark my place in my book; the words are meaningless with Gran's words still floating around my head, unsettling me. How did she know about them? What does she mean by 'it's real'? Magic? The thought is so absurd I almost laugh.

If there is one thing I know for certain, it's that there is no such thing as magic.

Some time after, I turn my bedside lamp off, descending the room into darkness. I drift off to sleep, thoughts of magic swirling in my mind.

...

_The wind whips my hair over my eyes meaning every so often I relinquish my grip on one of the handles to hastily shove it off my face. Dangerous, considering I'm still mastering riding a bike with only one arm._

_I speed past houses, bushes, trees, a dog, garden gnomes. Faster, faster. My legs are exhausted, pedalling non stop. Faster still. I turn left, zoom up a street. Almost there._

_Here. I brake to catch my breath, give my legs a break. The top of Dellway street, the top of a reasonable hill. Of course I plan to ride down it._

_Three, two, one... ZOOM! I let go of the brakes, force myself to pedal again. Cars on the road turn into blocks of blurred colour, red to blue, blue to black. In seconds I'm nearing the bottom, preparing to slow and turn right. I can't keep going straight; there is an old stone wall at bottom._

_Then, disaster. My hair is covering my eyes. I'm blind. I let go, the bike swivels. I hold back on. Once more, this time my hand makes it to my face, brushes the stray fringe out of my eyes._

_I wish I'd stayed blind: the wall is right there._

_No time to turn, to slow, to do anything except brace myself for the crash._

_...It doesn't come. My bike has stopped, halted completed. Did I die?_

_Cautiously, I open my eyes. Nope, not dead; there is no fluffy clouds and angels. I'm standing in a lawn, shielded by the shadow of something. I turn to see what._

_The wall._

_How on earth did I end up on the other side of the wall?_

_..._

_The smell of chips, burgers and what I think may possibly be candyfloss are carried on the light breeze, enticing people's stomachs to growl. Mine included._

_"Dad-"_

_"Later Nico, we're going to see the clown first." Dad grins, more of a child than I am, and drags me over to the clown. Much to my disappointment._

_Dressed in a bizarre combination of orange, yellow, green and blue, the clown certainly wasn't hard to find. His face is covered in bright paint, expression exaggerated, hideously so. Worst of all? He's clearly stolen Rudolph's nose, for he's wearing it over his own. Thief! Why Dad wanted me to see this man is beyond me._

_"Hey, may I have a balloon for my son?" Dad asks, politely getting the clown's attention._

_"Sure thing, just let me get this little girl's first." He points to a girl, dressed head to tiny toes in vibrant pink, who is standing staring at the balloons in awe. With nasty squeaks and the hiss of the helium supply, the clown finally finishes the girl's balloon; It's a unicorn, purple and - no prizes for guessing - pink. He presents it with a flourish, and the the girl giggles delightedly. She reaches out and practically yanks it out of his hand, shows it off to her Mum and Dad who smile and, pleased with the result, hand some money to the clown._

_Then the girl makes the mistake of believing her unicorn can fly; it can in a sense for the gas inside the balloons allows them to float, however the unicorn certainly has no control over where it flies. Up, up, up. The girl begins to cry, and the sound is extremely unpleasant._

_I wish her balloon would come back so she'd stop crying, really the sound is awful._

_Woosh! A strong gust of wind comes from nowhere and nearly knocks over several tents; it picks up posters and leaves, litter and... is that a wig! It's gone almost in an instant, and except for the displacement of some items, everything is normal._

_"Woo! Mummy look! Pinky did fly back to us!" The little girl squeals happily, and she's right. There, just inches above her head, floats the unicorn balloon. Blown back by the sudden wind._

_How odd._

_..._

_"C'mon Kiddo, we're going to be late if you don't get a move on!" Dad calls, impatiently waiting at the front door, eager to go to his show._

_"How about you go without me?" I call, still hunting for a jumper in my room. Desperate not to go._

_"Don't be daft Niko, you're coming! Now hurry up!" He yells back and I can tell he's close to losing his temper; I must really be trying his patience, for he hardly ever gets angry._

_Five minutes later I burst out of my room, favourite green jumper on. Dad is developing a slight red tinge, he dances from foot to foot as he watches the clock; we're about fifteen minutes behind schedule._

_"Ready?" He asks hopefully._

_"Shoes." I point to the pair I plan on wearing; my worn red converse, laces in quite the state._

_"Why not those ones?" Dad complains. I shrug and start pulling on my converse, deliberately taking forever. My plan is to get him too annoyed with me to bother taking me._

_"Niko, hurry up!" Dad raises his voice; I'm getting somewhere. I sigh loudly and tie the final lace painstakingly slowly. Once done I stand up and he nearly knocks down the door in his haste to leave._

_"Wait!" I say, throwing one hand into the air._

_"What now?" Dad all but wails._

_"My DS."_

_"Leave it. We need to go." I don't move, almost feel bad about winding him up, but then I remember; I really do hate these stupid magic shows. "NOW!" He explodes, finally at boiling point._

_"It's in my room. Two seconds." Before he can reply I dash back to my room, take ages to retrieve my DS. On purpose of course._

_"Niko! You have five seconds, then you're grounded." I laugh to myself; Dad is useless when it comes to discipline, that was always Mum's job. Some time later, I emerge from my room, DS in hand and smirking._

_Then I notice Dad's expression; my smirk flies off my face and runs out the nearest escape route. He is livid._

_"Niko. You are grounded. Now lets go!" Annoyance is clear in his voice._

_"No." I say, surprised by Dad's sudden strict attitude._

_"Excuse me?" He shouts._

_"No. You can't ground me."_

_"I think you'll find I can. You see I am your Dad. Now get down to the car, Now!"_

_"That's not fair!" My anger starts boiling too; never mind this argument is all my fault._

_"Neither is me being late because of your nonsense!"_

_"I'm not being grounded!"_

_"You should have thought about that earlier!"_

_"I don't even want-" I'm cut off by Roger calling from the other side of the door._

_"Tony, Niko, we need to go now! You will definitely be late now!"_

_"What time is it?" Dad panics, eyes dart to the clock. Freeze._

_"Twenty past eight. We should have left half an hour ago!" Roger calls back._

_The clock says midnight._

...

Brrriiinng! Brrriiinng!

Two mornings in a row being woken up strangely. Ugh. Why is the doorbell ringing? I quickly glance at my clock, worried I've overslept.

It's twenty to seven.

Who comes to our door at twenty to seven in the morning?

**Author's Note!**

**As usual, reviews and constructive criticism would be great! :)**


	7. Morning Visitor

Dad had already answered the front door and, from the sound of his booming voice - forever a performer - echoing around the apartment, had started up a conversation with our unexpected visitor by the time I'd ventured out of my room. There, wiping rain droplets from his hat, stood a complete and utter stranger. Never had I seen this man in my life before, and I certainly would have remembered an encounter with him; he's not exactly inconspicuous in that get up. Not only are his clothes completely idiotic looking, they're also rather worn; colour faded and patched up in places making him resemble a walking fabric collage. He wears a floor length robe, formerly scarlet red in colour with thick yellow and orange patches at the elbows; it almost manages to hide the thick woolly sweater - some bizarre image expertly knitted on the front - he wears underneath. Large shoes, clown like in size, adorned with massive brass buckles. A thick leather belt holds up his checkered trousers. It looks like his grandmother assembled the outfit, from a selection of charity shop cast offs whilst she had her eyes closed.

The stranger clears his throat awkwardly, red in the face; I guess I've been staring, but really who can blame me? I haven't even had breakfast yet and someone like _this_ has shown up in Dad and I's home, it's only natural I'd be doubting my state of wakefulness.

"Oh, good. You're up kiddo!" Dad says, some what uncomfortable looking. Guilty almost. This does not bode well.

"Yes." I nod, and pointedly stare at our unfamiliar guest, hoping for some answer as to he is. Maybe an old friend of Dad's?

"Oh, right, well Niko..." Dad starts and then tails off, his expression clearly explaining what's wrong. He has no idea what's going on or really who this is.

"Who are you?" I ask bluntly to the man, careful to try and sound curious, not annoyed.

"Oh! Right, well I suppose that's as good as place to start as any..." Replies the man, seeming slightly thrown by my forwardness.

"Niko, mind your manners." Dad chastises, frowning disapprovingly at me. Then he faces the stranger, applies his crowd pleasing smile, and explains. "Sorry, Professor. My son doesn't mean to sound rude, he's just frosty around new people." I scowl at the ground, biting my tongue to avoid starting an argument with my Dad. I don't want to make him look like a bad parent in front of some random 'Professor'.

"No, no! I get it, my timing is rather awful, sorry. So early, but I've got other stuff I need to do later, so there really is no other time to do this." Says the Professor, nodding his rather plump head as he speaks. Who is this man?

"It's fine, fine. Why don't you come in? You said something about being from a school? For Niko?" Dad queries, shooting me a look as he heads to the living room couches that clearly says '_be nice, no smart comments'._

"Yes, yes. That is why I'm here." He nods again; he reminds of a bobble head, the ones people put in their cars.

"You never told me your name." I say, still standing at the open door. Unsure of this man, still trying to figure out who he is. For some reason, I think learning his name will help me do this; there's nothing really in a name though, is there.

"Niko-" Dad grumbles in warning. He motions with his hand for me to close the door and come over; reluctantly I do, mainly because the mention of a school has intrigued me, reminded me of the odd letters currently lying in our bin.

"Well, Niko, I suppose I better start talking, hmm? You seem the impatient sort." The insult is said in the most non-insulting way possible, so I'm left wondering if really was one at all. However, I cast my annoyance aside and nod, sitting down on one of our couches, the stranger on the other. Although the man has me suspicious, he also has me curious. Maybe he knows about those weird letters. As I sit he holds out a hand, towards me. "I'm Professor Neville Longbottom."

"Nikolai Diggs." I say, and inwardly ponder over his slight smile at hearing my full name. It's hardly funny, especially when compared to 'Neville Longbottom'.

"Anyone want tea? Coffee? You said you have a great school opportunity to talk to Niko about?" Dad says, ever the polite host. He obviously thinks this man is genuine, otherwise he wouldn't be sitting here now, and I'm willing to trust him on that; my Dad is a surprisingly good judge of character, even if he doesn't always listen to himself.

"Uh... No. I'll pass, but thank you anyway ." Professor Longbottom says politely with a shake of his head.

"Oh, well. Maybe we'll start with this school thing then?" Dad says as he sits down next to me, hands clasped together. Business face on; he uses it when trying to negotiate show plans that Roger dislikes.

"Yes, well... About this school. It would be great if you could both perhaps let me talk first, then ask questions at the end." He says cryptically, and my stomach starts churning. This is getting weirder and weirder.

"I suppose...Wait, just one question first. What school did you say you teach at?" Dad asks. As far as I'm aware, Professor Longbottom didn't say where he taught, definitely not when I was in the room.

"Hogwarts." Says the Professor, watching both Dad and me carefully, gauging our reaction.

Our reaction: utterly stunned silence. Seriously, I think we've both stopped breathing. That nonsense envelope with those stupid letters is causing me no end of confusion. Perhaps if a enough people keep saying things like these, they will turn out to be true.

No. No way. I, Nikolai Diggs, did not just think that. I know the truth. There is no such thing as...

"It's a school for young witches and wizards. A school of magic." The words roll out of his mouth like they're nothing, like that sentence is one he just blurts out all the time.

But he's wrong. He belongs in a psychiatric unit or something if he's coming up with these delusions. Why?

There is no such thing as-

"Magic!" My Dad exclaims, there's something about his expression. It's excited, surprised.

Believing.

**Author's Note!**

**Hello! Sorry this chapter is a little late, love to say it's because I've been busy but really I've just been having problems getting the words out. Will try and be slightly quicker with the next update. As always, reviews and constructive criticism would be lovely. :)**


	8. Explanations of the Senseless Variety

"Dad, you don't believe this right?" He looks at me with an expression close to pity, like I'm some naive child.

"Niko-" Dad says, but I jump to my feet - quite fed up of this nonsense - and point an accusing finger towards Professor Longbottom, who is still sitting on the other couch looking rather amused.

"How can you believe some stranger who just shows up at our door and claims to be a 'Professor' from some school we only heard about yesterday through a prank letter!" I yell, Dad raises a hand for quiet.

"Niko please sit down and start showing some manners. Let's just give Professor Longbottom here the chance to explain a little more, alright?" He says, hiding his anger by throwing a calm demeanor over the top of it. I'm still not convinced though; at my dubious look Professor Longbottom speaks up, trying to conceal his smile.

"How about this? If, once I've finished talking, you still think I'm crazy you are welcome to throw me out of your home. Deal?" He offers a hand. I take a moment to consider; it's never a good idea to rush decisions.

"Fine." I reply and shake his hand, Dad shoots me a look that tells me I'll be getting a lecture on manners later.

"Well, like I've said I teach at a school called Hogwarts. And yes, we do teach magic. Niko, you received a letter yesterday asking you to attend; this is because you Niko are a wizard." Professor Longbottom pauses here, gives his words some time to sink in. A _wizard_? Maybe on Halloween, but seriously, I'm supposed to believe him? I fail to hide my snort of disbelief.

"It's true." The Professor says.

"I'm not a wizard; that's impossible." I say, but the certainty in my voice wavers; I'm remembering all the unusual things that have happened to me over the years, some of those can't be logically explained away. I glance at Dad and I can tell from his furrowed brow he's recalling some of same bizarre incidents I am. "It's not possible..." I mutter.

"Perhaps if I explain a bit more..." Professor Longbottom speaks up.

"Yes, I think that would be good." Replies Dad, he's gone ever so slightly pale and is looking at me carefully, inspecting me; you would think I'm about to sprout another head.

...

"So, next Sunday meet me here, on this street here." The Professor points to a spot on the map he just magicked out of thin air. Yes, _out of thin air_. What's weirder?_ He used a wand._"You know where it is?" He asks Dad as he makes his way to the door, pausing at the coat stand to collect his hat and robe.

"Yes. I think so, I know the area nearby fairly well so I'm sure I'll be able to find it." Dad answers confidently, then holds out a hand for the Professor to shake. "It was nice to meet you, Professor Longbottom. I'll see you Sunday."

"Yes, same to you ." They shake hands enthusiastically, the Professor probably glad to finally be leaving our (mainly mine, Dad's been his usual friendly self) company and Dad grateful to the man who has just proved his life's dream to be true.

Apparently there is such a thing as magic. And I can use it.

"Bye Niko, it was a nice to meet you." Professor Longbottom calls, I'm still sitting in a state of shock on the couch.

"Yeah, it was... nice to meet you too, Professor?" I say back, aware of how unsure my voice sounds.

"Don't sound too enthusiastic Niko." He says, smiling; I don't think he ever stops.

"Well, it was..._ interesting._" I say, as if I need to explain myself. However, the Professor seems to understand as he nods.

"I'm sure this a shock-" No kidding. "but I'm sure it will seem a bit less... impossible by next week. See you Sunday, then." He gives a final wave before disappearing out the door, it swings shut with its usual click, but for some reason it seems so much louder than normal.

Perhaps it has something to do with the heavy silence that's fallen between Dad and me.

"Dad-"

"How about some hot chocolate?" He asks, turning to face me. I'd been worried he'd be angry, upset. Ever since he was little, it's been his life's ambition to bring magic to life. Make it a reality. Well, now that's true, but it's me - his son who believed in magic about as much as he believed in the Tooth Fairy (which was zilch ever since I caught Dad taking my tooth from under my pillow) - who's the wizard.

Instead of looking disappointed, however, his expression is one of barely contained excitement.

"Hot chocolate sounds good, Dad."

"Come on then, we'll sit in the kitchen."

"Um, aren't you..." I start to ask as I enter the kitchen after him. He's already at the kettle, two mugs in front of him.

"Aren't I?"

"Why aren't you annoyed?" I say hurriedly, his expression turns to one of confusion.

"Annoyed? Niko I'm happy! You're - I can't believe I'm saying this - a wizard!"

"How can you be so sure?"

"Gut feeling."

"That means nothing, Dad. How can you possibly believe in magic?"

"I just do, Kiddo." There's something about his eyes when he says this, it's like he's somewhere else.

"Dad?"

"Niko, you're a very special kid. Accept it."

"Nothing you say makes sense!" I'm shouting now, frustration mounting. Why can't the world go back to being sane?

"No, I suppose to you it doesn't." His eyes take on that same strange look again. "Listen, I know this weird Kiddo, do you think I don't realize that? I'm half convinced that I'm going to wake up in about five minutes and find out this was all some crazy dream."

"Nightmare more like..."

"However, what Professor Longbottom said, some of it actually explains a lot. Like that incident with the clocks the other night..."

"So, what does it mean?" I struggle to keep the panic out of my voice, but I'm feeling rather overwhelmed by everything. Dad notices and pulls me into a hug.

"Let's just have our hot chocolate, watch some TV and then once you've calmed down, we'll talk everything over. Okay?" He asks as he places a steaming cup into my hands, whipped cream and marshmallows piled on the top.

"You really believe that there's a whole community of magical people who have been living undetected under non-magical people's - our - notice for who knows how long?" I ask, wondering if his conviction will be contagious.

"Yes."

"And that I'm a part of it?"

He smiles at me warmly. "Yes."

Worries somewhat eased by Dad's confidence, I calm down enough to sit in the living room and join Dad watching TV. I'll go along with Dad and the 'you're a wizard' thing for now, at least until Sunday. Hopefully, I will be able to get some proper explanations out of Professor Longbottom then; so far all them have been of the senseless variety.

...

**Author's Note!**

**Thank for reading, please review! Constructive criticism is welcome! :)**


	9. Flying Carpets, Galleons and Goblins

**Quick AN: Have decided to switch to third person. Not a big change, just thought I'd let you know. If I can be bothered I may go back and change the previous chapters, but really if you've read up to here I doubt that's going to matter much now. Hope you enjoy!**

xxx

The dingy alley had the distinct smell of rotting food and stale_ something_; it was so overpowering Niko hid his nose safely away in his sleeve. Half an hour. They should have met Professor Longbottom here half an hour ago.

"Dad I don't think he's coming." Niko said, annoyance clear. Really, what a fool he was thinking magic was real, even just for a moment. He knew better.

"Perhaps he's just been held up. Traffic or something." Dad surmised, glancing at his watch.

"Yeah, the skies were full of flying carpets and brooms this morning." His Dad shot him a look, not of reproach, but hope; he desperately wanted that to be true. "Dad, lets face it, Professor Longbottom was lying. This is a prank! Magic isn't real! I bet he's not even a real professor, or he's using a false name!"

"Kiddo-" Dad began, interrupted by none other than the man in question himself.

"I don't know about flying carpets, they've been illegal in this country for years, unfortunately - they do look like fun to fly, but yes I am a real professor. Really, Niko, I thought I might just have managed to convince last week." He's standing at the end of the alley, dressed in red robes, wand visibly sticking out one of his pockets.

"No."

"Oh well, I'm sure once we get you your school stuff, you'll come around."He says, smiling.

"I've brought my credit cards, but what sorts of things-" Dad, acting like a parent for once, asks.

"Ah, well firstly, money is different in the magical world. We use galleons; don't worry, though, we'll just have to pay a visit to the bank. As for the school equipment, here's Niko's list." With a swish of his wand the professor produced a sheet a paper and handed it over to Niko.

He read, with Dad looking keenly over his shoulder:

HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY

_Uniform _

_1. Three sets of plain work robes (black)_

_ 2. One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear _

_3. One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)_

_ 4. One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings)_

_Please note that all pupils' clothes should have name tags._

_Set Books All students should have a copy of each of the following:_

_The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) by Miranda Goshawk _

_A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot_

_ A Recent History of Magic by Lillian Merrygrove _

_Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling_

_A Beginners' Guide toTransfiguration by Emeric Switch _

_Fascinating Fungi and Herbs with Magical Properties by Kierran Moss_

_Practicing Potions: an Introduction to Potion Making by Ralph Stirch_

_ Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander_

_ Defence of the Dark: Start Now, Live Later by Alena Strom_

_Other Equipment _

_1 Wand _

_1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)_

_ 1 set glass or crystal phials _

_1 telescope _

_1 set brass scales_

_Students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad. Any other pet (magical or non-magical) must have been approved by a member of Hogwarts staff. This may be done through letter or in person._

Niko had a feeling that was going to be the longest shopping trip in history.

xxx

There really wasn't a street quite like it anywhere. Filled with shops advertising potions ingredients and Quiditch - _whatever that was_ - supplies. People milled around, chatting and shopping, dressed in bizarre robes not unlike Professor Longbottom's. Their bags held all manner of strange purchases; one bag was even emitting odd little growls and coils of steam.

The professor had been right: getting his school supplies was convincing him that magic actually was real. However, that did not mean Niko himself was magical; that notion was still absurd.

Noisy chatter filled Niko's ears, as they moved he caught snippets of conversations far more interesting than his Dad's and the professors's (the pair had been avidly discussing the differences between magical and non-magical money).

"Which d'ya reckon, Firebolt 4x or the new Tornado?"

"Two sickles, please."

"Dragon heartstring, pine..."

"Puking Pastels! I told you not to get any of those young man!"

"NIKO!" His Dad waved a hand in front of him, ending his distraction.

"Yeah..."

"Did you hear what we said?"

"No."

"It's brilliant, right. Can you imagine, your're part of this! My son - a wizard!"

"Dad, look-"

"C'mon, we're heading to the bank to exchange some money for these Gal- golle-"

"Galleons?" Professor Longbottom suggests helpfully.

"Yes, those! Lead the way Neville."His Dad exclaims, excited like a child confronted with new toys. The happy, wondrous vibe however was contagious; Niko felt himself smiling, craning his neck so as to not miss anything.

xxx

They reached the gargantuan, glowingly white building after a slow walk through the bustling street. For someone who had obviously seen all this before, Professor Longbottom managed to never lose patience or even look remotely bored; his relaxed smile stayed firmly in place. More remarkable when one recalls the lengthy amount of time spent staring into the shop window of a place called Weasleys Wizard Wheezes; clearly a shop for someone like Niko's Dad.

"Well, this should only take half an hour or so, efficient creatures goblins." Says the professor, nonchalantly. He might as well have noted that the sky was blue, or Niko's hair was dark. Not that he mentioned goblins!

"You can't be serious!" Shouted Dad, drawing several curious stares.

"I am."

"This I've got to see." And with that, Dad marches up the front steps and into the massive entryway, Professor Longbottom and Niko hurrying behind.

The entry hall was both massive and small; the formidable size made claustrophobic because of the amount of bodies it could hold. A great glass dome for a ceiling, chandeliers dripping in crystal; It was what Niko imagined being trapped in a snow globe felt like. Coins stacked in bundles on practically all the desks reflected the sunlight filtering it's way inside, casting shimmers across the tiled floor. More people stood in ques at the desks, huddled in tight circles discussing money and business, quiditch (again?) and gobstones.

Then there were the goblins. They moved with practiced quiet, steady and dignified; their human like suits somewhat disconcerting on their inhuman bodies. Most had tufts of white-grey hair on their heads, a wispy storm cloud hovering over their dour, wrinkly faces. All were grey skinned, with calculating eyes and long fingers. In more ways than one, the reminded Niko of one of their next door neighbors; a grumpy old man who was only ever friendly to other grumpy old people.

"This way, Niko, Tony." Professor Longbottom steered them off to the right, to a desk manned by one of the goblins. Above it there was a sign proclaiming 'Muggle Money Exchange and Help'.

"Good morning, my companions here are hoping to exchange some money and open a vault." The professor addressed the goblin.

"An account?" Niko asks, confused.

"Well, you're a wizard now, right? You'll need one for when you're older." Dad says, stepping forward, surprising confident, to converse with the goblin. "Hello, I'd like to exchange 300 muggle pounds please, and open an account for my son."

"You mean vault. Here, you need to sign here, here and here. The boy must sign here. I presume you'll be in charge of the money until he is of age?" The goblin spoke, monotone and bored.

"Uh-" Dad glances at Longbottom for help, he nods encouragement. "Yes, yes. Could I have 200 pounds of the exchanged money put in the ac- vault, as well?"

"Yes. Now sign." The goblin thrusts a feather - a feather! - at his Dad. Bewildered, he takes it and begins signing, before motioning Niko over to do the same; somewhat embarrassingly, Niko splotches ink all over the document around his name, unused to the using a quill.

"The muggle money?" The goblin queries.

"On my credit card, here." Dad hands it over. "You can use it can't you?"

"Of course. It will just take a moment." Using some weird metal box with a slit on two ends, the goblin takes the money off the card. Once it's came out the other side of the box, the goblin hands it back to Dad, along with a sack of galleons and a small, brass key.

"Thank you." Dad says.

"100 galleons in the sack, your credit card, and the vault key. The number is 982. It belongs to a Nikolai Diggs, and will be watched over by his father, Antonio Diggs, until he is of age. The remaining 185 galleons, 3 sickles and 2 knuts will be placed in the vault." The goblin rattles off, impressively dull.

"Right, then," Begins Longbottom. "time for shopping I think."

With that he hurries the three of them back outside, back to the magic.

**Author's Note!**

**Has been ages! Sorry! Just wasn't motivated. Planning to write a chapter a week now, though. Please review, constructive criticism appreciated. **

**Also a Disclaimer: I own zilch, clearly. Yes I borrowed the school list almost word for word, but that's just because I assume Hogwarts probably uses the same template for all the school lists. **


	10. Strange Shopping

The first place they head upon departing Gringotts is a shop called Flourish and Blotts, the best book shop in Diagon Alley according to Professor Longbottom. In the doorway and on the windows are posters, each one raving about a different book. One garnered a strange reaction from Longbottom, who, after reading the title and author - 'The Boy Who Lived: The Real Story' by Rita Skeeter - first looked angry, then mightily amused. So amused, in fact, he chuckled.

"Real Story my-" He muttered under his breath.

"Now lets see, better check the list." Dad said, pulling it from his pocket and consulting.

"Fascinating Fungi and Herbs with Magical Properties - this way. I think they keep that stock over here." Said Longbottom.

"How do you know?" Asks Niko.

"It's a Herbology book, I'm a Herbology professor." He replied, before heading off to the left; sure enough, there sat the book. One down, seven to go.

Whilst Professor Longbottom and his Dad searched the shop for the remaining books - Defense of the Dark: Start Now, Live Later was proving particularly illusive - Niko trailed through the shelves, marveling silently at some of the titles. He continued in this fashion for several minutes before accidentally walking backwards into a stack of new books.

"Oh!" Wailed the shop assistant, dashing over.

"It's alright; I'm not hurt." Niko assured him, but the balding man did not look in least reassured.

"Alright? I don't care! What about my books!" He fumed.

"Oh, uh, there fine, I think." Niko muttered, mildly peeved at the man's obvious annoyance; they were only books after all.

"No, they are not fine! Look! Look at that one!" His shrieking had drawn the attention of the rest of the shop, most of the customers looking on in sympathy for Niko. The copy to which the assistant was pointing was slightly worse for wear having received the brunt of the fall.

"What's going on?" Professor Longbottom and Niko's Dad had returned, each holding a several books, eight in total.

"This hooligan is trashing my shop!"

"Look, I'm not trashing anything you-"

"Niko." His Dad was stern. "Enough." The assistant turned a smug look to Niko, missing his Dad's wink; he knew it had been an accident then.

"Sir, I'm terribly sorry, how about we purchase that copy-" Professor Longbottom motions to the slightly buckled one. "-and the ones we intended to buy and be off?"

"Yes, well. That will be fine. Perhaps the boy would be so kind as to re stack the books he shoved over whilst I serve you. This way." With an indignant huff in Niko's direction he swept off toward the counter. Niko, ready to re stack those books alright - in the fire place, caught his Dad's warning glare and set to work.

"Book loving idiot." He muttered under his breath.

The books he'd knocked over were all copies of the same book, curiously titled 'The Mudblood Myth'. He'd ask Professor Longbottom about it later, he thought as he placed one red coloured copy on top of the previous one. In seconds he'd finished, so he went and stood by the door, reluctant to place himself in the shop assistants company for any longer.

"There, that's books sorted. Now how about a cauldron and some scales?" Longbottom said cheerfully.

"Sure." Niko replied, eager to be anywhere but Flourish and Blott's with it's uppity assistant.

xxx

"That's your books, cauldron, scales, telescope, phials and gloves. How about we get your robes next?" His Dad asks.

"Do we have to? Can't I just dress normally?"

"Nonsense! School uniforms school uniform, Kiddo. Now c'mon, I seen a clothes shop further down." His Dad grabbed Niko's arm.

"I'll leave you to get the robes then, I need to get some plant fertilizer." Longbottom said. "I'll meet you at the pet shop."

"Okay, Neville. Kiddo, this way." And with that, Niko was dragged off to a torture session.

xxx

As Madame Malkin was finishing up the measurements, Niko's Dad decided to sneak out and take a nosy to Weasleys Wizards Wheezes; Longbottom had been reluctant to allow him in earlier, so like a child his Dad was going now while the professor was away. Leaving Niko to be poked with sewing needles. Traitor.

"There deary, almost done. Just this sleeve here." She starts inspecting his left arm, but gets interrupted by the chime of the door announcing new customers. "Be back in a moment." She smiles, hurrying round to the front of the shop.

She returns minutes later, a boy and a girl in tow. They have olive skin, dark hair, and watchful eyes; siblings, there is no doubt about it.

"I'm just finishing Mister Diggs here, then I'll get you two dearies robes sorted okay?" Madam Malkin returns to Niko's sleeve under the scrutiny of the two new arrivals, before sighing. "Need a needle, and some other thread. Hmm. Maybe the... No wouldn't do. I'll be back in a second." And she walks out the room, to the store on the hunt for the right thread.

"Hello." Says the girl, head cocked to the side in curiosity.

"Hi?" Niko replies, unsure how to precede. Were wizarding children anything like normal kids?

"I'm Alyssa. Alyssa Zabini, and this is my brother-" He knew there siblings. "Alcivar." Alcivar nods before sighing loudly and muttering something about ear ache and sisters. Alyssa appears to ignore him, far more interested by Niko.

"I'm Niko." He says, feeling it's appropriate.

"Niko... Diggs wasn't it?" She asks.

"Yes."

"Odd. I've never heard of any wizards or witches called Diggs... You aren't foreign are you?"

"Nope. I'm from London."

"Which part, precisely?" Asks Alcivar, eyes suspicious.

"Why is that important?" Niko asks, disconcerted by the boy's reaction to him.

"It's not-" Alyssa says, considerably cheerier than her brother at the same time he says, "It is."

The siblings scowl at each other for some time before Alyssa finally shrugs and shakes her head.

"It's important because you're from muggle London aren't you?" Alcivar continues, glaring at Niko in disgust.

"Muggle London? I've never heard it called that before."

"See? Alyssa, we've been speaking with mudblood scum!" Alcivar hisses at his sister, who's cheeks were now dusted with the faintest hint of red.

"Hey! I'm not scum!" The boy had obviously insulted him, even if Niko didn't know exactly how.

"Alcivar, not here! Remember what Father said-"

"I don't care! He's a mud-"

"Found it! I'll be two ticks then it's you pairs turn!" Calls the happy Madam Malkin as she bustles back into the room, oblivious to the tension between her customers.

She was right and Niko's robes are finished quickly, bagged and, having being paid for by Niko's dad before he left, ready to go. Niko nods to Madam Malkin as he leaves, glares at Alcivar and pretends not to notice Alyssa apologetic glance.

Really, what a confusing pair.

So confusing in fact, it isn't until Niko is well and truly lost in the heaving crowds of Diagon Alley that he realizes he can't remember the way to the pet shop. Worried, Niko walks back up the street hoping to catch sight of Professor Longbottom's red robes or his Dad's normal clothing. No luck. Instead Niko heads up walking head first into a very tall, rather formidable looking man.

"Watch it kid!" He grumbles, turning to look at Niko.

"I was, just not that well." Niko protests, taking a step back from the man. His expression turns sympathetic; brown eyes crinkle in concern.

"You alright? Not lost are you?"

"I'm fine, but yeah I'm lost. Can't find my Dad, or Professor Longbottom..." Niko tails off, glancing around hoping they'll magically appear; it's entirely possible.

"Professor Longbottom? You must mean Neville! You're a muggle born then; no wonder you look so panicked, this is probably your first visit to Diagon Alley! Don't worry, I'll help you find Neville and your Dad."

"Who are you exactly?" Niko asks, taking in his scruffy clothes, trench coat and stubble.

"Me? Garrett Strom. How do you do?" He grasps Niko's hand and shakes it jovially. "But I suppose it's Professor Strom to you, isn't it?"

"Oh no, you don't work at this Hogwarts place as well do you?" Niko asks despairingly; was it a staff requirement of this place to be borderline insane?

"Afraid so. I teach Defense Against the Dark Arts. Best subject by far!" He exclaims. "And you, what do they call you?"

"Niko Diggs."

"Great, then Niko, lets go find your Dad and Neville. Knowing the latter, he's probably having heart palpitations over some incredible rare species of magical cacti Botany Box has just gotten in." He grins cheekily, but if there was a joke in there Niko missed it, along with the meaning of pretty much everything he said.

"Actually, we just need to find the pet shop; that's where we're meeting."

"Oh, right. This way then. Eeylops Owl Emporium it is!" And, grabbing Niko by the shoulder the way most hold onto their luggage, they dashed off up the street.

xxx

Compared to Garrett Strom, Neville Lonbottom was entirely sane and normal. However, when it came to picking pets, he was far better company; Professor Longbottom just failed to understand how unappealing a toad was.

"Neville, when have you ever seen a student carry a toad down the corridor? I say, go for the fire breathing turtle! That way, when you haven't done your homework, you can just say your turtle disintegrated it!" Strom explains, earning him a scolding from Longbottom.

"Your a teacher Garrett! You can't condone late homework!"

"No, but I can condone fantastic excuses!"

"Niko, how about a dog!" His Dad adds, looking fondly down at a terrier like puppy.

"Nah, that's a crup. Pretty boring compared to a FIRE BREATHING TURTLE!"

"Toads! Look this ones purple-"

"Fire-"

"Dog-"

"CAN I JUST HAVE AN OWL?" Niko shouts over the din. For three grown men they were being exceptionally childish.

"What!? But, that's so pathetic." Moaned Strom, frowning.

"I think it's a very sensible choice. Owls carry mail, aren't that hard to look after, don't ruin homework-" Longbottom begins.

"I had one that sh- (Strom corrected himself hurriedly at looks from both Niko's Dad and Professor Longbottom)-_ excreted_ on a charms essay of mine once. I'd say it was ruined. Couldn't even use a vanishing charm to get rid of back then."

"Niko, an owl sounds great. You can write to me that way! Which one?" His Dad says, ending the professor's quarrel.

"That one." The one Niko points to sits right at the window, away from all the other owls, looking very mysterious with it's black feather and sharp eyes.

"Good choice." Longbottom and his Dad agree.

"Terrible choice. I would have approved the turtle for you and everything!" Strom says.

"And I'm sure Headmistress McGonagall would have approved of your firing if you had." Longbottom informs him jokingly.

"Right, lets get it some treats and a cage then." His Dad says dashing off to back of the shop.

xxx

Ten minutes later, Niko, his Dad and Professor Longbottom emerge from the shop, owl in tow. Professor Strom, unsurprisingly, had stayed behind to purchase the fire breathing turtle; much to Longbottom's dismay. Strom waved them goodbye merrily, saying he looks forward to seeing Niko in a few weeks time.

"I'll call him-" Niko begins.

"Jeeves." Butts in his Dad, and the owl hoots its' ascent.

"What no! Don't listen, that's not your name!" Alas, Niko has no success and by the time they reach the wand shop the owl has decided it rather likes the name Jeeves.

"Thanks Dad, my owl now sounds like a butler."

"I think it suits him." Professor Longbottom, unable to hold back his laughter anymore, starts chuckling madly.

"What?" Asks Niko.

"It's a girl." He replies.

"No! You mean I now have an owl, a girl owl, called Jeeves?"

"Yes." He manages. Niko is speechless moment, as is his Dad (more so he doesn't end up laughing). There's a pause when, from the doorway of the wand shop, a young woman says,

"I think it rather suits her." That sets them all off laughing at the absurdity of Niko's owl's name. Jeeves. Perhaps Jee would work as a nickname?

"Oh well, lets get your wand now, yeah?" His Dad says, suppressing his boyish grin and clapping Niko on the back.

"Fine."

"My Mum will see you inside." Says the young woman, holding open the door, it's flaking green paint colouring her pale hand. They follow her inside, the door closing shut with a soft thunk. The room is lit by the orange glow of candles; heavy purple curtains guarding at the windows to stop any sunlight getting in. On one wall is a large counter, paper and small rectangle boxes stacked high on it's surface. Nearly blocking out the view of of the store room door. "Mum won't be a moment, take a seat if you like." With a bob of her head, brown curls bouncing, she directs them to the seats and disappears into the store room calling on her mum.

"So when do I pick?" Niko asks, turning to the professor who smiles and begins to reply, but is cut short by the bang of the back door bursting open.

"Who dares blaspheme such nonsense in my shop? You, young man? You had better hope not!" She shouts, coming to stand before Niko in all her wrinkly wrath. She's small, with wispy white hair and mismatched eyes. Her nostrils flare, and she holds out a stern finger at Niko before whispering. "The wand, my dear boy, chooses the wizard."

"Excuse me, but what?" Niko asks, utterly befuddled. Wands weren't capable thought.

"EXCUSE ME? THE WAND CHOOSES THE WIZARD BOY! NOT THE OTHER WAY ABOUT! NOW DO BE QUIET AND LISTEN!" Niko holds his tongue; this woman reminds far to much of his Gran for him to feel safe to annoy her. "Good. Now, left or right?"

Does she mean hand? "Left... I think?"

With a snap of her fingers a tape measure appears and sets to work on Niko's arm.

"Now, lets see..." She walks with careful steps around Niko, full circle. Assessing him. "Him, perhaps walnut, or hawthorn... Dragon most definitely... Jodie! Jodie! Are you hearing this?" She calls over her shoulder.

"Yes Mum!" She shouts back, stumbling into the room with arms laden full of those weird boxes.

"Good, hmmm... Perhaps yew - no wait. What am I thinking? Of course not yew. But Fir or even Ebony... Oh and Pine! Yes, those might work..." Niko had no idea what the woman was on about, and by the looks of things nor did his Dad.

Poor Jodie was running frantically back and forth with boxes, and her Mum descended on one from the growing pile. Opening the box, she held a wand - Niko highly doubted the chances of it merely being a stick whilst he stood in the middle of a wand shop - and turned it this way and that looking for god knows what. After a moment she places back in the box and tries the next; it seems to meet her standards and she turns back to Niko.

"Here. Give it a flick." She commands.

Doubtful, Niko accepts and, closing his eyes, gives it a swish.

BANG!

His eyes jerk open, a large hole was now taking up a chunk of the wall.

"Sorry-" He begins.

"No, I'm sorry. My mistake. Lets's try this one."

They continue like this, minus any more holey walls, for a good half hour before she hands Niko one that just seems... perfect. Smiling, he gives it a swish, and the candles go out.

"AHA! Perfect! Dragon heart-string and pine, thirteen inches. Reasonably supple. You've been chosen boy!" She claps, much to everyone's relief; wand picking was a tiring business.

"Thank you, miss?" His Dad says, from his safe perch on his chair. Coward.

"Wikins. Miss Henrietta Wikins."

"Well thank you, how many galleons is that?" He stands and heads over to the counter where Jodie waits at the till.

"So, have I convinced you Niko?" Professor Longbottom asks. "About magic?"

"Yes. I think you have." Niko replies, awfully conscious of Miss Wikins staring at them.

Still Niko had to admit that as far as shopping trips went, this one had been good.

xxx

The train ticket looked considerably average after Niko's visit to Diagon Alley; so did the everything besides his shopping. However it did have one noticeable discrepancy: the platform number was printed horribly wrong.

"Dad, I think Professor Longbottom's given us a dodgy ticket." He informs his Dad from the back of the taxi, getting an odd look from their driver (who really couldn't say anything; at least Niko didn't smell of dog food).

"Nonsense, here let me see." His Dad reaches back from the front passenger seat - where he'd been mystifying the driver with simple magic tricks, worrying when one is driving on a busy road - and takes the ticket for a closer inspection. "It's probably a print mistake. We'll find someone on the day and ask. No big deal."

He had a point so Niko took back the ticket and stuffed it into his jeans pocket for safe keeping. Honestly though, platform nine and three quarters?

xxx

**Author's Note!**

**Wow! Another chapter! I'm on fire! Niko will be heading off to Hogwarts soon; then the real adventure will start! As always, reviews wanted. Reward: Virtual hug, or virtual cake. Whatever you prefer. :)**


	11. Trolley Dash

Almost three weeks after the eventful shopping trip to Diagon Alley, Niko's Dad parked his pricey sport's car outside of King's Cross station at exactly twenty five to eleven. Masses of commuters flowed in and out of the station entrance, but Niko and his Dad remained seated in the car for a while longer; a peaceful silence, broken by the shifty fidgets of a person desperate to say something. Finally, after an impatient hoot of disdain from Jeeves from her perch in her cage, the quiet was broken.

"Got everything then, Kiddo?"

"I think so."

"Hmm, good. Good. Won't be sending me a letter-" His Dad's face still scrunches up in disbelieving amusement every time he mentions owl mail. "asking for socks then."

"No."

The silence returned. The radio clock flashed to twenty to eleven.

"Shouldn't we get going if we've got to ask for directions..." Niko tails off when he notices his Dad's unfocused gaze; he's looking away as if at something far off in the distance has caught his attention. "Dad?"

"It's going to be so quiet without you here this year. My son, growing up - into a wizard no less!"

"Dad, really-"

"I'm going to miss you. You know that right?" His Dad asks seriously.

"Yeah. I'll - I'll miss you too, Dad." Niko says, his words followed by a lengthy, weighted pause.

Then, simultaneously, they both reach over and embrace in a fierce hug. It probably would've lasted longer, except Jeeves chose that moment to start squawking incessantly; most likely wary of the time. They brake apart, go and lift Niko's trunk from the boot, along with Jeeves from the back seat, before heading off to find a trolley and someone to ask directions.

xxx

King's Cross was a bustle of activity, but still Jeeves attracted several odd looks; she didn't help matters much with her grumpy expression, however. It was one thing to see an owl getting ready to board a train, but a grumpy owl? They followed the signs, found their way to platforms nine and ten.

No trains were scheduled to leave for eleven.

"Dad, did the Professor say-" Niko began.

"No, he just handed us the ticket." His Dad says. Niko's expression turned panicked. What if he missed the train? "Don't worry, someone round here's got to know what's going on."

"But we can't just ask anyone about a magical train leaving for a magical school!" Niko hisses, casting furtive glances this way and that.

"No, but I'm sure the staff will know something. Look!" His Dad indicates with a finger to a suited train guard before dashing over. Niko, with an ominous weight in his stomach, steers his trolley after him.

"Another owl? Never knew you could keep them as pets before, and now two in one day!" The guard exclaims, looking at Jeeves in some confusion like he expects her to change into a more acceptable pet at any moment. She merely glowers, quite content with her own feathers.

"You've seen someone else with an owl?" Niko asks, hopeful; that meant they were probably at least in the right area. "Where?"

"Just over by that barrier. Gone now, but they were there a few minutes ago." Says the guard, nodding over to the stone barrier at platforms nine and ten.

"Oh..." If they were gone, that wasn't good.

"Well sir, I don't suppose you would be able to help us? My son here is going off to school today! Boarding school, needs to catch the train. You don't happen to know of one heading to a school that leaves at eleven?" His Dad asks.

"Can't say I do mate, what's this school called?"

Niko says "It doesn't matter." at the same time his Dad says "Hogwarts".

"Hogwarts? What kind of name is that?" Wonders the guard, shooting Niko and his Dad a suspicious look.

"I- I well, yes. Hmm. Well just be on our way then. Thanks. C'mon Niko." His Dad says hurriedly, and forcing a reassuring grin, pushes Niko's trolley and Niko himself back over to the platform barrier.

"We've got ten minutes! What are we going to do!" Niko panics. The station was still heaving with hurrying people, but none looked like anything out of the ordinary. No signs materialize out of nowhere telling them where to go. They were lost, and very close to becoming late.

"I'm thinking, Niko. Don't panic. There must be something I'm forgetting. Professor Longbottom didn't say anything about-"

WALLOP!

A small, brown haired boy crashes into Niko's Dad. He was perhaps a year or two younger than Niko, and his mischevious, toothy grin was slowly slipping off his freckled face. Replaced by a look of dawning fear; Niko's Dad wasn't scary in the slightest, though...

"HUGO WEASLEY! WHAT DID I SAY ABOUT RUNNING OFF!" Shouts an angry woman, clearly the boy's mother. She's a good twenty meters or so away, rushing forward with a mildly amused looking red haired man and girl following in her furious wake.

"In trouble I take it-" Niko's Dad begins, but does not manage to finish; the boy turns and runs straight at the stone barrier, he's about to collide and-

He's gone. Vanished.

"What on earth!" Niko whispers, identical expressions of amazement on his and his Dad's face. Nevermind the fact they have both seen - and even performed in one case - such a trick themselves.

"Did he go through to the platform?" His mother has just arrived, cheeks red with rage and exertion form her sprint over.

"Uh, well he did, sort of run at the wall and-" Before Niko or his Dad have finished the woman follows her son through the wall. Gone.

Dumbfounded, neither Diggs really acknowledges the man and the girl as they hurry behind the woman and the boy, casting a hurried 'excuse me' over their shoulders.

The clock ticks away another minute, and, just as Niko finally managed to get his mouth back under control and stop it forming a gormless O of shock, his Dad grabs the trolley and Niko.

"What?" Niko manages to squawk before they run at the wall, solid bricks zooming closer...

No impact, no splat. All bones functioning fine. Not even a little twinge of pain.

_Oh crap_, Niko thought,_ I must be dead._

xxx

**Author's Note!**

**Thanks for reading. Reviews would be lovely! :)**


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